


Thus The Living, Lone And Sobbing

by nothing_rhymes_with_ianto



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto/pseuds/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack drives back to Wales after Steven and Ianto's deaths. The pain is almost too much to bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thus The Living, Lone And Sobbing

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Children of Earth Day 4 and Day 5. Title from H.P. Lovecraft's poem, 'Despair'.

Fic inspired by this image:  


As he pushes open the double doors and steps out into the too-bright sunlight, Jack knows he’s not going very far. Alice’s accusing stare is burned into his retinas, overlapping with the image of Ianto’s tearful face. It’s over now, for him, for them. He hotwires a car and drives back to Wales, mind blank and burning.

He’s driving on autopilot when he reaches Cardiff, and nearly crashes the tiny car when he brakes in frantic shock as the sight of the ruined Hub greets him. He hadn’t seen the destruction. He parks on the side of the road and scrambles down to the fractured hull of his home. Standing in the middle of the rubble, he’s terrified that Ianto and Gwen were left out here without him, wondering. He wonders where Ianto had walked, paranoid and worried, before finding him. Squelching the thought, he drags himself dazedly back to the car and sits for a while, staring at the skeleton of his own history.

He starts the car and drives again, unthinking, in circles, randomly. His mind is full of swirling black, exhaustion and stress and grief pounding in at him, darkening his vision until it’s just a tunnel of familiar streets he need not think to navigate. His head throbs. His sinuses ache from tears in a way he’s never experienced before. He doesn’t realize he’s taking a familiar route until it’s too late to stop himself. Vision blurry, he parks outside of the little flat, stumbling out into the cool air.

He doesn’t let himself think before unlocking the unassuming beige door, too afraid that if he does give it some thought, he’ll turn round and run away.

When he steps inside and shuts the door, the scent of Ianto hits him full-force. He drops his keys and slides to the floor, hands over his mouth, teeth biting into the space between thumb and forefinger, trying to block the harsh sobs that claw out of his throat and grate against his chest, making his whole body jerk and quake. It takes him a moment to realize that the harsh, heartbreaking, animalistic sound echoing through the flat is coming from him.

He sobs until his legs are asleep, until his throat feels raw and ragged, until his eyes are sore and scratchy, his face swollen, his lips cracked, his head heavy and pounding. He just wants to sleep, exhaustion tugging his eyelids closed and fogging his brain. He staggers upward and into the flat, staring around at Ianto’s belongings, the photos on the shelves, the empty blue mug in the sink that he’d left to soak, the mail on the front table.

It’s so empty. Ianto’s presence and personality permeate the rooms, but there’s nothing left. Another sob catches him by surprise and he hates how broken he sounds. He stumbles as he makes his way to the bedroom.

The closet is open. That’s what he notices first. The closet door is open, something which Ianto rarely does, and his suits are hung neatly together, pressed and ready. Jack can’t stop himself, doesn’t want to as he walks the few feet to the open door and touches the silk fabric of a tie.

His eyes close. He is exhausted. He shucks his greatcoat and leaves it crumpled on the ground, the way he feels. His shoes, trousers, shirts are next. He is standing naked in Ianto's bedroom, exposed, alone, raw.

He opens the dresser and pulls out a pair of pyjama bottoms and a ratty old _Cymru_ t-shirt Ianto used to sleep in. He pulls them on and crawls into the bed, burrowing down into the blankets, shoving his face into the pillows. They smell like Ianto. His chest aches. Everything is so empty. They smell like Ianto but he knows in a few days or maybe even by tomorrow they’ll smell like himself and Ianto will be gone. They smell like Ianto and everything is slipping away.


End file.
